The email
I sent him an email. We were just friends, but I was attracted to him. I was, and still am, married. I’ve got two kids, although they’re teenagers now, at the time they were just kids.
I’d been writing an erotic story for a while when I wrote the email asking him if he’d give it a read and some feedback on it. It was my story, my characters, my fantasies. I’d been writing it for years. My husband and I have a good marriage and we’ve raised our boys right but this writing was my outlet. It gave me a place to go in my mind when the same-old-same-old got to be same-old. Anyone who’s ever been married or in a long-term relationship understands the lulls and swings of it. Our sex was good, we’d developed our tricks and ways of meeting the other’s needs but I wrote my stories and when rare moments of privacy occurred I would secret away on my iPad and indulge myself.
My husband didn’t know I wrote this kind of stuff, only a couple of my girlfriends knew. I only ever shared it with one or two of my closest friends. I never had a problem sharing with my girls, but, at the same time I knew who I could trust and they know who they are.
When I emailed Otto and asked him if he’d read it, I suspected he’d be into it, but I was terrified nonetheless. I considered him a close friend and I didn’t want that part to go away, but at the same time, I wanted him to see this other side of me. I wanted to show him. These were my personal and intimate fantasies and I was about to share them with a man I’d secretly imagined touching me in ways only my mind would ever make happen. I never imagined any of it would be a reality. It was all in my mind. Outing myself to him would change everything, but I had no idea how it would look or feel.
The first email I sent was just to ask him, “Hey, I’ve been writing a story for a while now and I know you write too, so I was wondering if you might give it a read. I totally understand if you’re too busy.”
He replied pretty quickly. I know nowadays people/friends/family get an email or text and can take days or weeks to reply, but we were pretty good friends. He was single and I think he was attracted to me in some way, although he never ever acted upon it. It was because he always replied within 24 hours, and always with something witty or interesting, I felt from the beginning he liked me. Plus, he told me his theory on friendships between the sexes.
A man and woman cannot be friends if they’re attracted to one another.
I thought he was being a misogynist. But he meant that men and women, who are attracted to one another can be friends, but the friendship stems from their attraction. That actually may be a misogynist viewpoint now that I think about it, but he never struck me as such, I would never have been friends with him if I’d suspected otherwise. He said if a man and woman remained friends for a long time and nothing ever transpired sexually between them it was because one or the other wasn’t attracted to them. The friendship would be a passive one, without intimacy, without compassion or care.
It was because he’d shared this with me and behaved as if he did care, and he was there for me and I was there for him that I knew he must have been attracted to me. If I hadn’t understood this innately, I would not have sent him the email.
And true to that belief, he replied within 24 hours that he’d be happy to read it over and even offered notes if I so wished.
The moment came. I attached the story as a Shared Doc and wrote that he could make comments in it if he had the time. I was literally trembling when I hit send.
Directly after sending it I read the email 20 times, re-read the story a dozen times, each time measuring it for his reactions. In my mind, I’d just made the first move. I had held his hand. We were having our first kiss. I was thrilled and touched myself that night despite the anxiety, or maybe because of it.
The characters were Luke and Lacy. I know…so cliche, but I never could get names right in my stories. Luke was like him outwardly. Rugged, strong-willed, sensitive, and compassionate. Lacy was like me…sort of. She was my alter-ego. She and I shared traits like our love of a good showerhead and our desire to be taken by a strong man. We both know what we want and like. We both won’t stand for any BS, but we are both forgiving and loving. We want our men to want us, we want them to respect us, and we build our relationships on trust and reciprocity.
But Lacy was an aggressive woman too. I don’t know if I secretly, unbeknownst to even myself, am an aggressive woman, but I wanted Lacy to be more dominant. I wanted her to experiment for me.
How it started
I met Otto at the school where I’d been working for 3 years. I taught English and so did he and on the first day of school while teachers all stood in their hallway during break he walked down and introduced himself. He was older and this was his first teaching job. He was really nervous and every question he had was about the students istanbul escort and the school. He was very nervous.
That day we had lunch together in the small break-room in our hallway. Our school was remodeling at the time and subject teachers were out in pods separate from the main buildings. English teachers all shared one pod and we had our own little room with a fridge and stove/microwave and table and chairs.
I walked in and saw him sitting eating his lunch and joined him. We hit it off directly. He was funny and kind of rough around the edges. I’d come to learn he was quite a polarizing person, people at the school either really liked him or they didn’t like him at all. I enjoyed talking with him about pedagogy and classroom management. Even though he was older, I had more experience than him in the classroom, but talking with him about the students and lesson design reminded me of when I’d first started teaching. It was refreshing. We arranged pretty quickly after that first lunch together to meet on a weekly basis and grade papers, talk strategy, and discuss philosophy.
We’d meet every Sunday at a coffee shop near my house. Many times though, instead of talking about school, we just talked. He was single, and it seemed to me, a confirmed bachelor. He’d had some long-term relationships, but as he put it, he could never find anyone to marry him. He said it was a great wish of his to have kids of his own.
He would go on an occasional date now and again but nothing ever came of them. I even tried hooking him up with my friends. I enjoyed being his sounding board. It felt like I was talking with one of my girlfriends if I’m honest.
I had my girlfriends too. I had my boys and my husband of course. Most of my time, I devoted to them so whatever time I had with the girls was precious. I made sure to balance it all, and most of the time my husband was pretty good about taking the boys when I needed time. He knew I was meeting with Otto every week, but I assured him he was not attracted to me. I honestly didn’t think he was. I might have told my husband Otto was gay just so he wouldn’t freak out, but I never introduced the two of them. That was a bad move on my part in hindsight. If I’d not told my husband he was gay, I would have, but he would have known Otto was straight as soon as they met, which is why I never introduced them.
Otto and I started hanging out more as our friendship grew. We’d go shopping or to school functions together. I found out he was a writer and read some of his stories. They were good stories, some tragic aspects to them but with humor and playful sexual undertones. I liked his stories but they were unpolished and wandered off into nothingness often.
Shopping was fun with him. I’d never met a man who enjoyed shopping. He smoked weed so I think that had a lot to do with it. He was a great shopping buddy. Like I said, a lot like one of my girlfriends. I think he saw himself that way too. He just enjoyed hanging out, talking, and laughing. We would get lunches occasionally too. We would go to school plays and musicals. We’d dress up and go for a drink after and talk about the performances. We lived in a small town in a culturally starved part of the country so this was about as intellectual as we could get without actually making a real date.
One week, at our Sunday morning meeting, he was hungover pretty bad and we were just talking. He was telling me about a date he had with this Japanese woman with two teenage kids. He was very forthcoming and it was turning me on. I liked him as a friend. I definitely thought he was handsome, but something about the retelling of his night’s debauchery got to me. I led him down the path and assured him that I was enjoying his account and he revealed more. I felt as if I was “leading” him. And he followed. That day he was wearing an old pair of sweat-style shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt with flip-flops. He got up to use the bathroom and I swear I caught a glimpse of satin pink material that had slipped up above the waistband of his shorts.
“Was he wearing panties?!?” I thought to myself, impossible. This overt man, this rough-around-the-edges man was definitely wearing panties.
When he came back from the bathroom I started asking him questions about his writing. Like, had he ever written stories for his girlfriends? Had he written erotic stories? I remember the look on his face, deciding how to respond, or even if he should, but he told me he had and if he believed what they’d said about the stories, they were quite good.
That night, after putting the boys to bed and while my husband was watching Sunday night football, I got on my iPad and searched Literotica. I’m a long-time member, although I’ve never published anything, and my profile is absent of any personal information, I love reading the stories. I don’t follow any authors because it’s easy enough to find something that tickles my fancy so I never saw the need.
I searched for Otto. Back then the search escort istanbul tools on the site weren’t that great or very well-organized, but it didn’t take me long to find him. He’d used his email handle for his username. I thought it was quite bold of him. I have part of my first name in my username, but my first name is quite common, and I altered the spelling of it slightly, added a two-digit number that was my birth year, but it would be virtually impossible for someone to find me based on my username. The combination of letters and numbers, regardless of their meaning, would be a million to one that someone would figure it. But his email handle was quite unique and anyone who knew his email would recognize his Literotica username as belonging to one and the same person.
I read his stories that night. I was completely astounded! At once I was floored and aroused. He wrote with such realism and certainty, and I could identify his “normal” writing voice and style inherent inside these erotic fantasies and knew immediately it was Otto.
I read each story. I noticed he wrote sporadically. Sometimes three or four stories in a six-month stretch, sometimes nothing for a year or two. He hadn’t written anything in over a year. The last story he wrote was about Maria, an ex-girlfriend he’d told me about. He even used her name. I did notice he never used his own name so there’s virtually no way anyone who knows Maria would know the Maria in this particular story was her.
The story was so shocking. So shocking and real. Otto was a secret submissive crossdresser and something about it was extremely arousing. Also, realizing that earlier that day, he was in fact wearing women’s panties added to my shock. It has explained so much about our relationship thus far. He enjoyed being my “girl pal.”
I carried this secret knowledge with me throughout our friendship. I kept a watch for any further glimpses of panties or undergarments but never saw any after that one morning. Our friendship remained like this for the entirety of his stay at our school.
A change
Otto was not fit for this town or this state. I said he was polarizing, and much of it was his own fault, he was relentless and unforgiving of the locals’ states of mind, the “culture” if you want to call it that, but therein was the problem. I knew very early on that his goal was to teach internationally. I was envious in a way because he was totally un-obligated to anyone and after his third year he started signing up for job fairs for international teaching positions.
We went over his prospects together, our Sunday meetings became preparatory meetings for the job fairs. He had targeted European cities, Berlin, Amsterdam, Prague, Copenhagen, and I found myself daydreaming about what that would be like. I was happy with my life, but it was an irresistible temptation to imagine myself alone, starting a new life in some European country. Learning a new language, making myself whatever and whoever I want to be, and meeting people who had no idea who I was or where I came from.
That last year before he finally secured a job was wonderful and bitter-sweet. I knew he was leaving and I would miss my friend. At the same time, he met a woman and it became almost a weekly date. He would tell me all about their sex life. She was 56! I was shocked that he was dating her, and how much he seemed to like her. He was only 40 at the time and I couldn’t believe he was dating a woman almost 60.
He genuinely liked her, but once he told me that the biggest reason he wanted her was because of her age. “I want to know what it’s like to be with an older woman so I know what I’m in for when I get that old.” That’s what he said. It was funny, but I also knew from reading his stories he had a thing for older women because they were more dominant, they knew how to handle a man. Even though he was “dating” her, he still made our Sunday meetings and we still went shopping and we still had lunches together.
In February of his last year at the school, he went to a job fair in Iowa and then in San Francisco. The Sunday before he left for Iowa I gave him a gift box with a calendar for keeping track of his interviews. I did my research on how the fairs worked and knew he’d need to keep track of his appointments and contacts and I could see he recognized and appreciated the fitting gift. I also put some chocolates and a little note telling him how much I’d miss him and asked him to make sure to keep our friendship going wherever he landed. I even took him to the airport and wished him luck. I was sad but also happy for him.
He called me to tell me that he’d gotten a job in Berlin at a bi-lingual high school. I was thrilled that he thought to call me. I was sad because I was afraid I was losing a friend. I knew how he was, and in the back of my mind, I feared he’d get to Europe and forget, not just me, but everyone he’d left behind.
As the school year drew to a close, our school was performing Oklahoma as the drama istanbul escort bayan club’s grand finale, and Otto and I made our first “date.” We agreed to dress up, go for a drink and then the show, and finish off the night at our town’s most popular Irish pub.
I told my husband I was going with a group of teachers and he was going out with his friends so we had a sitter for the boys. I wore a black dress and open-toed heels. I knew from his stories that he was into women’s feet. I got a mani-pedi. I looked good. We met at a roof-top bar/restaurant, one of the town’s nicest restaurants. We arrived at the same time and took the elevator up to the roof. Otto stared at my toes the whole ride up. He was wearing a black sport coat and slacks with a blue t-shirt and leather shoes. He looked pretty hot. We made a good-looking couple. I felt like I was on a date. I felt butterflies in my stomach. He kept telling me how good I looked, and then I’d catch him looking at my toes.
We had a couple of cocktails and then walked over to the school’s auditorium. The show was great and it felt so strange to show up with Otto alone as if we were on a date. Our colleagues were looking at us with suspicion in their eyes. Otto was oblivious, but I felt like I’d been caught cheating. I felt the whole of our little town judging me.
After the show, I still felt that strange judgment and we walked to the Irish pub. On the walk over I checked my phone and my husband was blowing me up. I called him and as we walked through the doors of the pub Otto was leaning into my ear asking me what I wanted to drink. He wasn’t being obnoxious, the place was loud and he was just making sure I could hear him. My husband wanted to know who I was with and he thought I was with girlfriends, and what the hell am I doing with a man?
Otto was oblivious again. He had no idea. He just looked at me like a stunned ape, I was furious with him. What I realized later, and what actually happened is that my anxiety of being judged by my colleagues had carried itself over to the pub, and coupled with my husband’s interrogation of my whereabouts and who-with-abouts had my head spinning. I lost all self-control and confidence and told Otto, “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
My husband, in addition to interrogating me, had told me he was on his way to the pub and wanted to meet this guy I’d been hanging out with for the past four years. I couldn’t let that happen and flight or fight took hold and I fled.
That was the last time we hung out. Summer came, and on July 2nd, Otto was on a plane and heading to Berlin.
Long-distance relationships
Summer was busy, the boys were playing ball and taking martial arts, my husband was back to not worrying about where I was and who I was with, and I was busy getting ready to start my master’s program to get my admin certifications. It was good. I was actually relieved. Otto was totally oblivious to so much that mattered to me and my community. He was a single man with no kids from a completely different part of the country–he was like a bull in a china shop. I needed the summer to decompress and shift my paradigm. I took a yoga class that summer, spent time at the beach alone when time afforded me, and ramped up my writing on the Luke and Lacy story. I was taking care of me.
Otto wrote me in early fall just to say hi. It was good to hear from him and I wrote him back just filling him in on my life. He was working long hours getting acclimated to the new school, city, and country.
I focused on work and my master’s program and an occasional girls-night-out. Weekend nights, after the boys were in bed I’d write my story. My husband was working nights now so I could relax, have a glass of wine, light some candles, and write. I liked to wear a black chemise, a pair of lace boy-cut panties and my open-toed slippers while I wrote. It got me in the mood. Sometimes I wouldn’t write, I’d just close my eyes and imagine Luke or Lacy, or both. On good nights, I would cover myself with my down comforter, slide my magic wand from the side-table drawer and ride him to orgasm. I really love my wand.
Sometimes I’d read stories on Literotica. In late fall, I noticed Otto had posted a new story. It was about “her.” I knew from our talks that “her” was Maria, his, “one that got away.”
The core of the story is Maria edging him as he is dressed in women’s lingerie. She edges him and slowly milks his “clit”, as he called it, releasing his sperm in short and deliberate spurts into the palm of her hand and feeding it to him. And then repeating this act until finally letting him ejaculate onto his own face. The story seemed so real.
I read the story several times playing with myself. I kept imagining Otto dressed in panties, chemise, stockings and garter. I could see his face painted. I could see him serving the Maria, who soon became faceless, who soon became me. I put myself in her position in total control of Otto’s sex.
I left a comment. As I said before, my username includes part of my first name and my birth year. If Otto saw the user comment and thought of me, he’d realize it was me, his friend from the states. I was tingling. I just wrote, “thanks for the great read”. I was nerve-racked. I was trembling. I clicked “submit” and watched the comment post itself at the bottom of his story.